


Well, They Say Spies Don’t Die

by decsdumb, Nova0ne



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Don’t do what curt does, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Torture, authors can’t write filler, canon typical alcoholism, canon typical badassery, curt isn’t a pussy, curts self sacrificing and stupid, dma is a real man, everyone lives au, get ready for chapter 8 yall, oh yeah the rating changed, owen isn’t a bitch, plot holes because we’re illiterate, time skips galore, two dumb bi authors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:18:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decsdumb/pseuds/decsdumb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nova0ne/pseuds/Nova0ne
Summary: Owen falls and Curt doesn’t leave him for dead like a dumbass.It’s fluff and humor but like... it's still saf so there's still gonna be a bunch of violence (stay safe babes)





	1. Don’t Litter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Depictions of Owen's canonical fall and blood.

          In hindsight, Curt should have seen this coming. Having a dangerous profession along with a smartass secret boyfriend made for some wacky situations, including but not limited to feeding a human arm to a shark in Australia. (Long story)  


          So, watching the love of his life slip and fall to a death that he had created, well, it took a few seconds to really sink in. In any other situation, it would’ve taken hours, days even, but he didn’t have days, he had less than two minutes. Still, he froze, staring at the seemingly lifeless body of his lover. The beeping of the timer, combined with a random burst of adrenaline snapped him out of his daze. Curt looked down at his watch, one minute and twenty-eight seconds before the bomb goes off. He bolted down the steps, kneeling down beside Owen. The back room of the weapons facility was dark, lit only by the emergency lights that had activated when Curt set the bomb. In the dim light, he could see that one of Owen’s legs was bent at a funny angle, and he was bleeding from his temple. A lot. Suddenly thankful he had paid attention in his first aid class, Curt managed to pick up his partner without causing too much damage to either of them, not that it mattered if Owen was dead, but still, he wasn’t taking that risk. Curt spared a glance at his wrist, twenty seconds on the clock. He ran.

_20_

          Curt flew to the exit, his partner limply dangling in his arms.

          _19_

          All he wanted was for Owen to be alive, he had to get out of that building.

        _18_

          He kicked open the door, praying to a god he had long since stopped believing in, for his love to be alright.

           _17_

          He wasn’t sure what happened, but he remembered the explosion, and a sharp pain in the back of his head and then ………. nothing.

          What……….. what the hell? Curt’s head was spinning, vision blurred as he looked around the Russian wilderness. The world seemed to be a blur of gray and white, the snow-covered treetops stretching out into infinity

          He was vaguely aware he was clutching something, someone.

          “Owen?” Oh shit, it was. “Owen!” He sat up straight, and almost immediately regretted it. Not only did his head spin, but he was now nauseous at the sight of all the blood surrounding him. And dear god, there was a lot of it. It was staining the snow red and, had he been in a less serious situation, he probably would have passed out again. But he couldn’t afford that now, not with Owen maybe dead, not with it being his fault. The realization hit him like a train. This was his fault. This was all his fault.

          Curt prided himself on being well put together in stressful situations. When you were in his line of work, you kind of had to be. But right then and there, he wasn’t a dangerous spy, a sharpshooter or anything of the sort. No, what he was at that moment was scared. Curt surveyed the area before remembering they were sitting in wet clothes in the snow. If Owen was alive right now, he wasn’t about to let him die of hypothermia of all things, so he rushed to the car they left outside the facility with Owen in his arms. He frantically patted his pockets for the keys, before he remembered that he had given them to Owen. Setting him down gently, he leafed through his boyfriend's pockets (Owen would kill him later) finally, he found them. He picked Owen back up and tossed him into the backseat. Curt hopped into the driver's seat and floored the gas pedal. He knew exactly where he was headed.

_Two hours later._

          Curt had been driving for a while now, only subconsciously aware of the snowy forest slowly giving way to the cityscape. He kept replaying the fall over and over again, agonizing over what he could have done, how he could have done better. He was so lost in thought that when he heard a loud groan from the backseat, he nearly crashed the car, slamming violently on the brakes.

          “Good god, Mega,” another groan, “this is why you throw away your bloody garbage.” Curt nearly burst into tears. He was alive. He held back sobs, trying to think of a witty response but ultimately giving up and going for sincerity.

          “I thought you were dead.” it was meant to be an exclamation, but it came out as a choked sob.

          “Oh, love, you know I wouldn’t dream of leaving you so soon, can’t get rid of me that easily,” Owen said. “Besides, if I was dead then who would be there to save your magnificent ass?”

          “You think my ass is magnificent?” Curt asked with a small smile forming on his tear-stained face.

          “Really focusing on the important parts, huh Mega?”

          “You didn’t answer the question, Cavour.”

          “Your ass should be illegal, now, focus on the road. You’re going to get us killed.”

          Even through the teasing, Curt could tell Owen was in pain. His speech was strained and he stuttered on his words. Glancing back at him, he could see just how pale his face was.

          “Did I not just say to pay attention to the road?” Owen asked, obviously impatient with Curt’s terrible driving.

          “You’re paler than my tux right now, we need to take you to a doctor.”

          “I’d really rather not, where were we heading anyway?”

           ~~The hospital~~ “A safe house” he lied. Curt realized that if Owen had been mentally sound at the time, he definitely would’ve called out his blatant lie, luckily, he was still dazed and didn’t spot any of Curt’s tells. Owen seemed satisfied, closing his eyes and going slightly limp.

          “Don’t sleep, keep talking.”

          “I love you.”

          _Half an hour late_ r

          “Nope, fuck you, I hate you, turn this goddamn car around right fucking now. I’m not going to some bloody hospital you absolute fucking dumbass—” After that, Curt could no longer understand what Owen was saying, his usually charming British accent always got obnoxiously thick when he was angry. Curt parked his car, rolled down the window, and using all the pent up anxiety and tension from the past few hours, he screamed

          “HELP! SOMEBODY, PLEASE HELP ME, MY FRIEND IS HURT.”

          “You’re so fucking melodramatic, Mega.” Even so, nurses ran out of the hospital, wheelchair on hand. The last thing he sees Owen do before he’s wheeled into the building is him flipping him off with a broken wrist.

           ~~Yet another time skip~~

          Curt sits in a chair across from Owen’s hospital bed. As the very patient nurse hooks him up to the IV, he glares daggers at Curt. Curt politely smiles at the nurse as she takes her leave.

          “You are sooooo not getting laid tonight,” Owen said with an annoyed expression, grimacing as he shifted his weight.

          “You have a broken wrist, a fractured kneecap, and your ribs are shattered like glass, if anyone’s not getting laid, it’s you.”

          “Oh, sod off you bottom bitch.” Curt can't help himself, he bursts out laughing, a bright blush covering his face to the tips of his ears. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, but everything seems funnier somehow.

          “I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Owen said, suddenly sounding very panicked. “Me saying that could’ve ended in us being shot, you do realize the only thing separating us and everyone else in this hospital is a curtain, right?”

          “None of these people speak English, doll.”

          “Why would yo- are you mocking me?”

          “Whatever could you mean, darling?” 

          “I’m going to break your ribs,” Owen said, the previous glare back in full force. 

          “You love me” 

          “Oftentimes I wonder why.” 

          “I do believe my magnificent ass is a part of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter one! If you enjoyed, leave a kudos and we'll have chapter 2 up soon!


	2. Wheelchairs and Jet planes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: None

          The next three days were a blur. Cynthia chewed out Owen for once, telling him how stupid he was to try and refuse medical treatment, and Curt would be lying if he said some small part of him wasn’t rather smug. Gradually, Owen began to get better, time went on and after a week he was no longer hissing in pain at every movement. He was released from the hospital a week later, equipped with a wheelchair and a clunky cast. Curt was adamant on signing it. **  
**

          “You could sell it afterward! I’m the world’s greatest spy!”

          “Really? You sure?”

          “As you’re currently sassing me from a wheelchair, I don’t think you have room to talk.”

          “And who’s the reason I’m in said wheelchair?”

          “... Fuck you.”

          The airport was bustling, and parking was a nightmare. After a conversation with a flight agent in broken Russian, they got directions to their terminal. The airport smelled like sweat and cheap cigarettes. As Curt wheeled Owen along the dirty linoleum floor, he went strangely quiet. Normally, he’d be cracking jokes, or try to subtly flirt with Owen. (They aren’t as subtle as they thought, considering everyone who’s ever worked with them is very aware of their not-so-secret relationship) Today, however, he was dead silent, not even a smile on his face, no expression at all, for that matter. Owen was starting to get a little worried. The last time he was this quiet, they were on a mission and several civilians had been caught in the crossfire. Despite it in no way being his fault, it hit him hard.

          The airport was crowded, and Owen might have chalked it up to Curt being a little socially anxious, but having been Curt’s “date” to many a party, he knew that was a bit far fetched. Curt had no trouble talking to people. Finally, he spoke up.

          “You are awfully quiet today love, what’s up?”

          Curt let out a heavy sigh, stopping the wheelchair in front of their gate. “Nothing babe, don’t worry about it, just been a long week.” Now that he was mentally sound, Owen could tell Curt was lying. His ears turned red and he picked at his nails.

          “Rubbish.”

          “What?” Curt looked guilty, Owen knew he hated lying to him.

          “I said that’s rubbish. Now, tell me what’s actually wrong.” Owen spoke softer then, he wanted Curt to open up and he wasn’t going to get very far by being a dick.

          “I just— you could’ve died, Owen. That’s terrifying! I thought you were dead, I thought the fall had killed you and the only reason I went to get you was because I knew I’d never forgive myself if I let you lay there alone… what if I hadn’t come to get you? What if I left you there to be killed in the explosion? So many things could’ve happened and somehow the best case scenario is you in a wheelchair with 8 broken bones! How is _that_ lucky?”

          Owen’s heart broke. He could feel his chest tighten and he was on the verge of tears. Curt shouldn’t have to feel like this right now, sure the accident was preventable but that’s all it was, an accident. Owen got out alive thanks to him and to think that Curt has been silently beating himself up over this probably since the accident happened, it was too much to bear.

          “Curt, love, look at me, you made a mistake but you also saved my life. This job has always had its risks, we both knew that the second we signed away our souls to the government,” Curt chuckled, “I might’ve fallen without the banana peel, I could’ve been shot, kidnapped, tortured, killed, anything could’ve happened that day, it’s just our line of work. Blaming yourself benefits nothing and no one, okay doll?” Curt was crying quietly, Owen pulled him into his chest, ignoring the pain in his ribs, tightly hugging the man he loved so dearly.

          “Thank you, I’m sorry I’m such a mess right now, you shouldn’t have to be comforting me.”

          “I’m always going to be here for you. I love you.”

          “I love you too.”

          ~~ANOTHER FUCKING TIMESKIP WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS~~

          The plane ride was long, and even with Cynthia joining them from their layover in Hong Kong, the private plane felt empty.

          They had been on this damn plane for almost 4 and a half hours now, and Curt was getting antsy. He hadn’t had any real alone time with his boyfriend in almost three weeks and now he dreams of kissing him under the moonlight… And other stuff, but mostly kissing. Cynthia decided she was tired of listening to the dumbasses flirt and left claiming she needed to take a nap. The second she was out the door, Curt was on top of Owen. Or at least, he was trying to be. Apparently climbing into someone’s lap when they have broken ribs doesn’t work as well as you might think. It’s awkward and absolutely hilarious to anyone who could’ve seen the position they were in but it was still better than how it had been for the past few weeks.

          Curt grinned at his partner when he was finally comfortable and leaned down to kiss him. Owen smiled into the kiss, clearly missing this just as much as Curt, and held the side of his lover’s face. Owen took control of the kiss, biting Curt’s lip softly. Curt loved this, he always loved being with Owen but after so long of not being able to hold him, kiss him, love him, he was even happier. Curt was lost in thought but he was very quickly brought back to the real world when he felt Owen’s tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth slightly, enough to allow Owen room to slip his tongue in. Curt let himself relax against his partner, sighing contentedly at the familiar feeling of their mouths working in sync. He wound his arms around Owen’s neck, letting them hang past his back. He broke off the kiss, going to mouth at his neck. Curt made a quiet noise of appreciation as Owen’s lips made contact with his jawline when Cynthia walked into the cabin.

          Curt jumped off Owen, causing him to cry out in pain. He landed on the floor with a thud and scrambled back as Cynthia let out an annoyed groan.

          “God fucking dammit. You two aren’t even hiding it anymore.”

          “You _knew_?” They said simultaneously. She groaned again.

          “Everyone you’ve ever spoken to knows. I don’t know if either of you realizes this, but you never shut the fuck up about each other.”  At this, both agents looked down, Curt in embarrassment and Owen in shock that he had been so bad at keeping a secret. He was a _spy_ for fuck's sake.

          “Anyways, I came in to tell you to please keep it down, as some of us are trying to sleep and there is a pilot who has to fly this plane. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make the secret service look like a fucking joke.” She turned to Owen. “You, on the other hand, are representing MI6, and therefore probably should not be making out with anyone in broad daylight, let alone an American spy.”

          “Yes ma’am,” said Owen, eyes fixed on a piece of lint hanging off his shirt.

          “Sorry, Cynthia.” Curt murmured.

          “And Curt?”

          “Yes?”

          “You look like a goddamn tomato, get your shit together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave kudos if you liked it and we'll post chapter 3 soon!


	3. Ransom Notes and Australians

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Kidnapping and mentions of murder, canon-typical violence

__ _ Idk like 3 months later.  _

           Owen would never admit this, but he was nervous. After being out of the field for nearly three months, the task ahead of him seemed scarier than normal. Who knew almost dying could fuck you up this bad? He let his thoughts drift for a bit, before they landed on Curt. Curt, who was currently still asleep in their cramped hotel bed, tangled up in layers of cheap blankets and snoring softly. Owen smiled to himself. He had gotten the orders to move out about an hour ago and was packing his and Curt’s things. They were supposed to leave in an hour, but Owen figured he could let Curt sleep in a while longer. He was so cute when he slept and he deserved a lie in. Ever since the banana peel incident, Curt had been walking on eggshells around Owen. Despite Owen’s numerous attempts to convince Curt he was fine, he seemed determined to keep him from doing anything while recovering. He was brought back to reality when he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around his back. 

           “Hey babe,” Curt said groggily with a dopey smile on his face.

           “Mornin’ love, you’re finally up, sleep okay?”

           All he received in response was a soft hum. 

           “You should come back to bed, it’s cold without you” Owen chuckled.

           “As amazing as that sounds, we are supposed to leave in 45 minutes.” Curt groaned loudly into Owen’s shoulder.

           “I don’t wanna, though.” Super spy or not, Curt was such a child in the morning. 

           Owen turned around in Curt’s arms until they were face to face. 

           “Tell you what,” Owen said. “We make it back from this mission in one piece, and we can take a day off.” 

           “Yay. One day is sooo long.” Curt quipped, a slight smirk playing on his lips. 

           “Quit your whining, we got a building to blow up.”

 

            _And another! (Time skip)_

           There was a certain art to blowing shit up. One had to be precise, and patient. If you went too fast or made a mistake, you could end up splattered against the ceiling. So, Owen went slow. As a general rule, he tended to take more time with setting up explosives, so he usually made it out of the building after Curt. As Owen set the last charge, he thought about his promise to him. The missions were bound to get heavier after this one, so some relaxation time would be more than welcome. 

           This was a relatively easy mission, on account of him almost dying. Curt was also especially good at blowing up buildings, so there was little to no concern that he wouldn’t make it to the rendezvous point. Owen was gunning for the exit when he heard a strange thump, almost like a body hitting the ground. Because he assumed Curt was already out of the facility, he didn’t think much of it. He kept running, out of the door and down an alleyway. It was almost two miles to the rendezvous point, and Owen ran the whole way there, mind focused on getting to Curt and heart thumping in time with his footfalls. 

           When he arrived at the meeting place, a nondescript brick building behind a warehouse, he immediately knew something was off. The lights were on, and the back door was ajar like someone had left in a hurry. Slowly, his gun raised, Owen entered the building. He was hoping that maybe Curt was trying to freak him out, or that he was just careless, but walking through the back door, he realized that wasn’t the case. Curt was nowhere to be found, and the place was a complete mess. Chairs and couch cushions were strewn about the room, papers were scattered on the floor, and the supplies that were normally kept out of the way in a closet were all ripped open and dumped unceremoniously into a heap. The only thing intact was a desk, which had been moved from its spot near the wall to the middle of the room. On top of it, sitting perfectly in the center, was a white envelope with a deep blue wax seal.

           Time seemed to slow down as Owen cleared the room, going around it in a wide circle to make sure no one was there with him. After he was sure he was alone, he went to the envelope. The seal depicted an ornate longsword with its blade pointed downward. Carefully, Owen opened the letter. It read

           “Dear Mr. Cavour, 

           As you have most certainly noticed by now, your dear friend Agent Curt Mega is missing. I have him. Before you start offering up money or issuing threats, let it be known that I am a very dangerous opponent. My kill count totals about 1,147 and is scheduled to go up  _ very _ soon. You may be wondering why I’m even bothering with this note if I don’t want anything, and that’s because I figured you should have something to hold onto your friend with, something that reminds you of him, something to bury, because you will never find his body.

           Unkind regards, 

           Deadliest Man Alive” 

           Taped next to the signature, was a lock of short brown hair - Curt’s hair, as irrefutable proof of what was happening.

           Even with the cacophony of emotions running through him, (panic, mostly.) Owen had one very clear thought as he put the letter down and reached for his comm. Cynthia was going to  _ kill  _ him.

 

           Curt was having what they like to call in the business a “rough day.” He had woken up in the stereotypical hostage set up, tied to chair in a dark room with a singular light on him.  _ “Jesus,” _ he thought.  _ “this guy is pulling all the stops.”  _ Despite his situation, he hadn’t been nearly as freaked out as he probably should have been. This was what, the third time this happened this year? Every single time he had made it out more or less in one piece, so why should he be worried now? 

           He sat there for a few minutes, just letting his thoughts drift before he remembered he was a goddamn spy and should at least attempt to take in his surroundings or escape. He tugged on his bindings, but they held fast. They were very well tied, and whoever was doing this had enough sense to search him, so escape was a no-go. Trapped, for the time being, he decided to look around. The room was pretty boring, made of concrete and empty except for the chair he was sitting in and a table. The table was covered in items that Curt couldn’t identify, but he had a pretty clear idea of what they were for. Curt was about to scoot closer when the sound of a door opening echoed through the room. 

           Curt froze up, locking away his fear and putting up a confident facade. The more time he wasted with making clever quips, the more time that Owen had to find him. Considering he could be anywhere, that might take awhile. The person behind him spoke out in a deep Australian accent that sent chills down his spine. 

           “‘Ello, Mega.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, leave a kudos if you enjoyed, we'll have chapter 4 up soon :)


	4. Interrogation techniques and Russians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Kidnapping, torture, mentions of sensory overload  
> if you're uncomfortable reading this sort of stuff there will be a chapter summary of what you missed so you can keep reading. We're putting it in an endnote so there aren't any spoilers for those who are reading the chapter.

          “HOW in the flippity flappity FUCK did you manage to lose an entire human being?!” Cynthia had been yelling at Owen for about a half an hour now, and he had barely gotten two words in edgewise. He opened his mouth in another futile attempt to defend himself. 

          “In my defense,” he started, only for Cynthia to cut him off.

          “No, there is no defending this, Carvour, your incompetence lost me my best agent today! There’s no excuse for that amount of dumbassery!” Owen was used to a certain level of abuse from his superiors, but usually, he didn’t agree with them. That and he usually had the option of laughing about it with Curt afterwards. Seeing as that was currently out of the question, Owen felt he was out of options. He wasn’t entirely sure when he had started to cry, but now that he’s noticed, there’s no stopping it. He saw Cynthia’s previous scowl soften as she sees the tears too.

          She approached him, for a second Owen thought he was gonna get slapped, but instead she laid her hand on his shoulder. Was she trying to be comforting? If so, it was not working at all, if anything it was even more panic-inducing. Cynthia is a scary woman. When she spoke, her voice was somewhat softer.

          “We’ll get him back Owen, we’ll get the sick bastard who did this and he will never see the light of day again.” She said this with a determined look on her face, a type of protectiveness he hadn’t seen before now. Owen had forgotten how much Cynthia really does care about Curt, while she yells at him and nearly kills him almost daily, she loves him in her own weird Cynthia way. When Owen continued to not respond, she started again.

          “I know this is hard for you, Owen, I don’t know what I would do if my life partner was taken. That’s why I keep her out of our line of work, that obviously isn’t an option for you, though.” Owen froze for a second.

          “Life partner?” he spoke with an incredulousness that was absolutely palpable.

          “What? Is it so hard to believe I don’t spend my days alone, seething over a cigarette in this office? Yes, I have a life partner, I also go on dates with her and sometimes, I even  _ smile _ . Can we get back on topic now, Carvour?” 

          “I- Yes, Cynthia, sorry.” He cleared his throat before continuing the previous conversation. “We just need to figure out where he was taken to. The man left a calling card, an extremely dramatic one, might I add, so tracking should be possible. Maybe Barb has something? Some gadget or other?” 

          “Not everything can be solved with a fancy gadget Carvour.” Owen’s face fell.

          “Oh.”

          “But, knowing those nerds in lab coats, we probably have something.”

 

_           Meanwhile, in an undisclosed location. _

          Curt felt like he couldn’t breathe. Maybe it was a side effect of having been choked to the point of unconsciousness multiple times, the growing anxiety that he wasn’t going to make it out alive, or that he might break and give Owen up. Owen. Apparently, he was the reason this was happening. This guy, the Deadliest Man as he had called himself, was after information on Owen. That was the reason Curt held fast, despite every cell in his body screaming at him to  _ give in _ .  _ To make it stop. All you have to do is talk. This can stop.  _ Curt felt a cold blade run across his neck, pressing hard enough to cut but not hard enough to kill.  _ Unfortunately. _

          “Mega, listen, it’s simple. Give up his location and this can all come to a stop. You can’t care about him that much, right?”

          “I love him more than you could ever understand, I would rather  _ die _ than let you lay a finger on him.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he was gonna regret it. 

          “Love, huh? How precious…”  _ Shit  _

          “So that’s why you’re so adamant on staying silent, wouldn’t want to lose your boy toy?” Curt was fuming.

          “Boy toy my ass, he’s the love of my life. That’s why I’m not telling you shit.”

          “Oh, you’ve told plenty, dear.”  _ Shit shit shit why did he say that?  _ “With that information, at the very least I could have him fired, though I planned to kill him, an ended career would certainly suffice.” Deadliest Man spoke with a crooked smile on his face,  _ the sadistic bastard.  _ “However, I still need information, so…” he inched closer, until he was way up in Curt’s personal space, the blade pressing into his throat.

          “Spill.” 

          Curt spat in his face. Deadliest Man recoiled, a look of mild annoyance on his features.

          “Alright then, do things the hard way.” 

          The three hours that followed were worse than any torture he had experienced in all his years in the business. He could no longer move his limbs and his brain felt like mush, his voice was gone from screaming. He had given up hope of escape, of survival. There was blood dripping into his eye, he vaguely wished his hands were free to wipe it away. Deadliest Man had been talking about all his experience in torture and how much he enjoyed it for the past 15 minutes and Curt couldn’t take it any longer. His body was numb but his mind was racing.  _ Too loud. Too bright. Too much. Make it stop. Stop. Need air. Air. Loud. Voices are too loud. Voices? One person. Too much. Need air. Too bright. Wait. Two voices?  _ Curt was looking up, a bright light shone on his face and in the reflection of the bulb he saw a flash of auburn. He heard a gunshot and expected a wave of pain to hit,  _ for it to finally be over _ , but instead, he felt nothing. He heard a woman’s voice but couldn’t understand what she was saying. He felt something touch his shoulder, then his vision went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:  
> Owen tells Cynthia what happened, she freaks out. Curt gets tortured for information on Owen and he lets it slip that they're in love in a delusional state of pain. He goes into sensory overload and gets saved by Tatiana who shoots DMA.  
> Thanks for reading chapter 3! We hope you enjoyed, leave a kudos if you liked it! Thanks for all the comments, by the way, we appreciate every single one!


	5. General Panic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of previous torture (nothing too terribly explicit) and drugging

          Curt had been missing for 26 hours now, and Owen was more than ready to march down to the lab and demand to know what was taking so long. He was pacing back and forth in Cynthia’s office, getting increasingly more agitated with every passing moment. Cynthia herself was smoking a cigarette and making phone calls, searching for records of this “Deadliest Man.” Despite all the panic that was running through his veins, Owen had to admire Cynthia’s resolve. Losing her best agent had to have taken a toll, but she wasn’t showing it. Owen was so lost in thought that he barely even noticed the phone ringing. He was busy planning exactly what he was gonna do to the person who dared touch his partner. He wasn’t clear on the details yet, but he knew it would be very painful.

 

          Cynthia picked up the phone, very ready reprimand whoever was stupid enough to bother her. Didn’t they know she was looking for this agency’s best operative?  

          She started, “THIS BETTER BE GO—” 

          “I have your agent, take him back.” The voice on the other end sounded tired. She spoke with a heavy Russian accent and if Cynthia hadn’t been so worried, she would have been suspicious. They  _ were  _ in the middle of a Cold War after all. That doesn’t matter right now, though. She needed her agent, didn’t matter how she got him. She looked up at Owen, who was practically wearing a track into her carpet. He couldn’t know yet. He would jump the gun, and go in without thinking. She lowered her voice.

          “What’s your location? I’ll be there in 10.”

          Tatiana was getting impatient. She had taken Agent Mega to her safe house in Berlin about an hour ago, and he had yet to wake up. Considering what he went through, this wasn’t surprising, but still. She already contacted the Americans, so now there wasn’t much to do but wait. She was sitting at her desk to write a mission report when she heard a hiss of pain from behind her. She turned around to see Mega opening his eyes, face scrunched up in obvious discomfort. The look of pain turned to one of panic when he saw her sitting across the room. His eyes went from her to the door and back to her again. His hands went to his arms as if to make sure they were free. There was a beat of silence, and then the room exploded into noise as Curt lunged for the door. Tati shot up out of her seat to stop him. He was tripping over himself, caught in a tangle of bed sheets and blankets. It was clear he didn’t quite have full control of his limbs. She held his arms to stop him from falling over. 

          “It’s ok, you’re safe here.” She attempted to reassure him but he was clearly not convinced. He continued to struggle in her grasp. 

          “I won’t talk, I won’t talk” he repeated over and over.

          “You don’t need to talk, you need to rest. I’m not out to hurt you. The man who had you is gone, he’s not coming back. Calm down or I will have to sedate you.” For whatever reason, threatening to drug Curt didn’t chill him out. His breathing picked up, and he started to shout. 

          “Please, please, just kill me. End it. It hurts. It hurts. I broke. I gave him up. He’s gonna die ‘cause of me, kill me.  _ Kill me _ .”  As he got more and more panicked, his sentences got more and more inconsistent. Tatiana gently lowered the still struggling Curt down on the bed again and reached over to the bedside table for a sedative.  _ Who’s “he”?  _ Tatiana thought absently as she readied the drug. Mega was in no state to fight her but he still scrambled away with widened eyes as she approached him with the needle. 

          “It’s to calm you down, I can’t have you giving away my location. Cynthia will be here soon.” With that, she sunk the syringe into his neck and Curt went limp. Now that the room was quiet again, she had time to think about what she was going to tell Cynthia. She didn’t really know any details of what happened to Agent Mega, so the inevitable grilling that would ensue when she showed up would be a fruitless endeavor. All she had to offer information wise was that she had been hired to kill the Deadliest Man, and Curt happened to be there. She knew quite a bit about Deadliest Man since she had to be filled in on who he was for the mission, but that knowledge would be useless considering he’s dead now. 

          It had been much longer than 10 minutes since the phone call with Cynthia, 2 hours longer than 10 minutes, in fact. Of course, Tatiana expected this considering they were in different countries, but she was still getting antsy. She hoped Curt would wake up before Cynthia got to their location, it would be a lot easier to explain things if he was conscious. At this point, she had bandaged up Mega to the best of her ability to stop any bleeding, but he was still roughed up quite a bit. He would need medical care and there was no way for her to get that for him until Cynthia showed up. She didn’t even want to think about the therapy this guy would need. Her thoughts were interrupted by a furious pounding on her door. She opened to door to a scary looking 5’ foot woman with an expression that screamed: “I will murder your entire family.” 

          “Um, hello?”

          “Cut the bullshit, where is my agent?”

          “Still asleep”

          Tati pointed to where Mega was slumped over against the pillows. When she turned back to look at Cynthia she had moved very close to where she was standing.

          “He obviously isn’t asleep, the dumbass never sleeps, and he’s covered in blood. What the FUCK did you do to him?” Cynthia shouted in her face. Tatiana realized how incriminating this situation was.

          “Okay, I promise I didn’t hurt him. He was in a state of panic and I sedated him so he wouldn’t hurt himself.”

          “And the blood?”

          “The man who held him tortured him for hours on end, what would you have me do? Give him a bath?!”

          “Don’t fucking sass me right no- wait I’m sorry, torture?” She sighed, “I was hoping that wouldn’t happen, but I suppose it isn’t surprising.”

          “I found him in a warehouse tied to a chair. My mark was standing over him with a knife, it was clear this had been going on for a while. It was quite gruesome, actually. I killed my mark and freed your agent, but he passed out. I brought him back here and called you.” 

          “Holy fucking shit, you’re serious?”

Tatiana was just about to respond when Mega stirred behind them.

          “Cynthia?” He looked puzzled as he sat up slowly. Cynthia turned around, visibly relaxing. 

          “It's me, dumbass”

          “Cynthia, I’m so sorry, I broke. I told him about Owen.” He was already beginning to shake again, his voice wavered.

          “Curt, calm down, the man who hurt you is dead.”

          “Who’s Owen?” Tati assumed he was the person Curt was panicking about earlier, but she wanted to have more specifics if he’s the one the Deadliest Man was torturing him for information on.

          “He’s my… partner.” She looked at him curiously. 

          “Partner, huh?”

          “We really don’t have time for this.” Cynthia was growing impatient. Curt needed medical care, and them standing around chatting wasn’t going to get him help any faster. 

          “I’m calling Owen, he’ll meet us at the hospital.” She turned to Tatiana, “You’re coming with us, you know more about what happened than we do and Curt is in no state to explain. I want to know every detail you have on this Deadliest Man character.” 

          Tatiana looked at her quizzically, “Ma’am, you do know he’s dead, right? Why does it matter anymore?” Of course, she’d comply and tell her, but she still wanted to know her motives. It didn’t make a lot of sense to want information on a dead man.

          “In our line of work, no one is dead until you see a bullet in their skull.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, leave a kudos and chapter 6 will be up soon!


	6. Hospital beds and water bottles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: none, just a very very brief mention of the fact that Curt was tortured

_          Meanwhile in America  _

Owen woke up in a broom closet, and he hated the world. Cynthia had gotten a call, and the next thing he knew he was tied up in some back room with a sticky note on the door. He couldn’t hear the aforementioned phone call, Cynthia spoke too quietly to make out what she was saying, so when she told him Barb called with information in the lab, he went along with it. As he was walking to go see what she found out, he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see what it was, Cynthia spoke.

“Hey, does this smell like chloroform to you?”

“Wha-?” And then there was a rag on his face and he was out. 

 

So here he was, tied to a chair in a dark closet with barely enough light to illuminate the sticky note on the door that read, 

“He’s in Germany, Barb will come to get you in 3 hours :)” 

He was feeling a mix of emotions at the moment, the strongest of which was rage. He struggled against his ropes, but they held fast. How dare Cynthia do this?! He was one of the world’s greatest spies! Did she really not trust him with the return of her agent? Did she think him too emotional? So personally invested in Curt’s safety that he had to be kept away? Even if that was the case, did she really have to fucking CHLOROFORM him to do it? He was a rational adult, he would have stayed put. 

Even as he thought this to himself, he knew it was a lie. He would have run off without information and acted rashly.  _ Anything to get to Curt _ . Anything to get the sick bastard who took him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he reached this conclusion, but it must have been a while because soon enough he heard the lock in the door jingle.

“ _ Finally.”  _ He thought. He was ready to get out of this damn chair and on to the first plane to Germany. 

 

_ This definitely won’t be the last TIME SKIP MOTHERFUCKERS  _

 

“WHERE IS HE?” Owen all but shouted as he burst into the hospital room. 

“Mother of Christ, he’s right here you possessive asshole.” Cynthia’s annoyed voice came from below him. He looked down to see the owner of said voice sitting in a chair near Curt’s bed. In a moment of terrible judgment that probably occurred due to his lack of sleep and multiple (about 7 if he remembered correctly) cups of coffee, he laughed quietly before speaking.

“You really are short,” He paused to laugh again, “I couldn’t even see you when I walked in.” Cynthia’s eyes darkened and Owen very quickly sobered up. She stood on her chair and yanked him forward by his collar.

“You wanna repeat that, Carvour, you pretentious British fuck?” She looked like she could snap him in two. Owen had seen this woman angry before and he can confirm, she definitely could.

“I- no ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.” She let him go and pulled back just enough to slap him before sitting back down like nothing had happened. His face was going to be red for a while. 

He heard a loud chuckle from behind him and it wasn’t until that moment that he even noticed there was someone else in the room besides Curt and Cynthia. He turned around to see a woman with red hair and a not very well hidden grin sitting at a table. 

“Hello,” She stood up to shake his hand, “My name is Tatiana, I’m the one who found your, uh,  _ friend _ , Curt.”  _ Damn, were they really that bad at keeping it a secret?   _

_ _          " _ _ Oh, well thank you, my dear.” 

“It wasn’t a problem. You look like shit, is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. I’m just currently on my eighth cup of coffee, I haven’t slept in the past 46 hours unless you count being chloroformed,” He stopped to glare at Cynthia, “And my… partner is lying half dead in a hospital bed.”

She blinked in response before saying, “Yeah, okay, been there too.” 

He took a deep breath and turned back to Cynthia.

“Is there any way I could get the medical reports, love? I don’t know if he’ll be up to tell me, but I would like a general idea of what happened.” 

Cynthia grimaced.

“Legally I can’t give you the full report, but I’ll get a doctor to give you the rundown. Fair warning though, it’s…. pretty brutal.” 

“Isn’t everything?”

 

_ At this point, we’re out of sarcastic comments. We’re just sorry. They will never end. Time skip. _

 

Owen was seeing red. He was pretty sure he had never been this enraged in his entire life. The doctors had given him a gist of what had happened to Curt and if he hadn’t been on the verge of committing first-degree manslaughter before, well he certainly was now. God, he felt sick to his stomach. The bastard had kept it up for hours, doing things that could only be described as horrendous. Not to mention the guilt that had slowly been building up sense Curt had gone missing. The idea that the man who had done all this was right above Owen while he was setting the bombs wasn’t doing amazing things for his mental health. He wanted to cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Cynthia had already seen him doing that today, and he didn’t want or need her sympathy. 

Currently, he was sitting by Curt’s bed, holding his hand and gently stroking his thumb. Curt’s hand wasn’t smooth. It was covered in calluses from years of training and handling firearms. But that didn’t matter, so was Owen's. Owen’s hands were corse and scarred and ugly. There was nothing clean left of him. No bit of him was left unscathed, even if there weren’t any physical wounds. This job took a certain toll, and while he knew he signed up for it, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was worth it. In this downward spiral of thoughts, Owen had begun squeezing Curt’s hand, looking for some sort of comfort. As he sat, swimming in his own dark thoughts, he felt Curt squeeze his hand back, weakly, but it was still definitely there. Owen’s heart stopped and he looked up hopefully.

“Curt, love?”

Curt groaned loudly for a few seconds and Owen smiled despite his current situation.

“Owen?” 

“I’m right here love, how are you feeling?” 

“I feel… uh- I feel kinda dizzy? You’re very…uh.... fuzzy lookin’. And my throat’s sorta dry…” His voice was slurred and he seemed sluggish. He almost sounded drunk. He had never seen Curt really drunk, after years of being an alcoholic, he had a very high alcohol tolerance. This was an experience he didn’t think he’d ever have and while he’s sad it had to be a result of torture, he was still enjoying himself a little.

“That would be the morphine, my dear.”

“Morphine? Why do I need……….oh.” He trailed off as the past day’s events came back to him. Suddenly he recoiled, yanking his hand out of Owen’s.

“I… I gave you up. I broke. I couldn’t take it anymore and I told him about you. About  _ us... _ I…..I fucked everything up. How could you love me after that?” Owen wasn’t able to stop the tears this time. He just stared at his idiot lover and cried.

“ _ How could I love you? _ How could I not love you? You’re my world, darling. You may have broken but it’s because he broke you. You’re such a self-sacrificing dumbass sometimes, I swear… you could’ve and probably would’ve died in that place. He could’ve killed you and you would’ve let it happen.” Curt froze and Owen did what he knew how to do. He crawled into the bed and very gently wrapped his arms around Curt. 

Tatiana sighed from her spot across the room, making Owen jump and Curt turn his head. He offered a sleepy little wave. 

“Okay, I’m out, Owen, you want a coffee or something?”

“He wants WATER!” Curt said with a big dopey grin on his face. Owen sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Curt was always on him about not staying hydrated. It was ironic considering Curt’s drinking habits.

“I’ll have a black coffee, thanks.” 

“You … need to ah...hydrate! You need hydration…. you’re basically…..you’re basically a sad plant.” Owen turned to Tatiana.

“He’s always on my ass about this, just get me a coffee, dear.”

Curt whispered shouted to Tatiana, attempting to hide his mouth from Owen with his hand.

“ _ WATER.”  _

Tatiana got him a water bottle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 6, leave a kudos if you enjoyed chapter 7 will be up soon. Sorry that this took a bit longer, exam week is coming up so our upload schedule is going to be a bit fucked for a while.


	7. Pain is a Construct of the Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of violence and general descriptions of scars and wounds  
> (this is a cute chapter tho we swear)

          Curt had stopped waking up in pain. Everything had sort of faded to a dull ache, and at this point, he just wanted to sleep. Preferably with Owen by his side. The past few weeks have been hellish and he missed his own bed. He missed waking up to Owen making coffee at 5am, he missed hearing him in the kitchen humming along to a song playing on the radio, he missed playing with Owen’s hair when he finally went to sleep. He missed Owen. Sure, he’s saying this while Owen is sitting at his side, softly caressing his hand but he meant he missed alone time with Owen. Privacy was a beautiful thing for a gay couple in the ’50s. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend in  _ peace  _ dammit! He squeezed Owen’s hand to get his attention. 

          “Babe, let me up. I need to use the bathroom.” Owen released his hand somewhat begrudgingly. 

          “Hrmmhf, fine”

          As he stood up, Curt heard a quiet gasp from behind him. He turned around to see Owen with his mouth slightly agape.

          “What?”

          “Your back! It’s…. dear god.” He stood up and slowly walked over to where Curt was standing. There was a massive scar running all down Curt's spine, visible through the thin hospital gown he was wearing. It was healing, but it was clear it went deep. Now that Owen was looking he could see the myriad of smaller scars littered across his back, no doubt extending around his entire body. Curt hadn’t bothered to look for them, he knew they were there.

          Owen ran his hand down Curt’s arm, at a loss for words. Curt had gone through all this for him. 

          “Do they hurt?”

          “Pain is……just a construct of the mind.”

          “Curt, that makes zero sense.”

          “Your  _ face _ makes zero sense!” Owen smiled before putting on a clearly fake scowl. He put his hand to his face, up against his crooked jaw.

          “Fuck you, asshat! You know I’m  _ insecure  _ about that!” He gave Curt’s shoulder a light shove before they both doubled over laughing. Owen was laughing so hard, he almost forgot about their previous conversation. He sobered up and looked Curt in the eye.

          “Take off your shirt.”

          “At least buy me dinner first,” Curt said with mock offense, holding his hand to his chest. Owen sighed and rolled his eyes so hard he could’ve pulled a muscle.

          “One: we’ve been dating for how long now? Two: You can’t change the subject like that and expect me not to notice. Now, take off your shirt and let me see the rest of your scars, you absolute imbecile.” Curt’s humored expression fell and he looked shy,  _ that’s a first.  _ Owen realized something was wrong pretty quickly at that and went to rectify his previous bluntness.

          “Love? What’s the matter?”

          “Nothing, nothing….. it’s just….are you sure? There’s a lot of ‘em. And they're ugly….and they mean I failed. That I gave up.”

          “Curt, darling. Sweetheart. Angel. Light of my life. What in the absolute fuck are you talking about?!” 

          “I’m… well-”

          “No, nope, absolutely not. None of that.” He had taken Curt’s hand in his own, and without so much as a second thought as to who could have walked in, he kissed Curt. He didn’t give a flying fuck anymore. Curt leaned into the kiss, eyes closed. Just like on the airplane, it had been a while since they had gotten the chance to kiss. While Owen was sure this would lead to other things later, right now he just wanted to comfort Curt. The kiss was soft and sweet, and Owen really didn’t want to pull away, but he needed air. He looked into Curt’s eyes again.

          “If it’s all the same to you.” He said, “May I take off your shirt?” Curt seemed to hesitate but nodded. 

          Owen slowly turned Curt around, working loose the strings that held together the back of his shirt. He found himself wishing he had a knife, these knots were kind of tough. Eventually, he untied the last one. 

          Owen had to stifle a gasp. His back was absolutely wrecked. Including the one down his spine, he must have had at least 15 new scars on his back alone. He looked at the array of new marks and traced his finger along one of them.  _ Why hadn’t Curt said anything?  _

          “Curt….” The other man turned around, showing the rest of his scars. He avoided Owen’s gaze. 

          “I’m… I’m sorry?” Curt sounded like he didn’t know why he was sorry, “I’m sorry, I know that they’re ugly and I get it if you don't want to see them and—” He reached for his shirt before Owen cut him off. 

          “Love, you are so dense sometimes.”

          “Beg your pardon?” Owen rolled his eyes and placed his hands on Curt’s shoulders. His boyfriend was kind of an idiot. 

          “Curtis Lawrence Mega, do you genuinely think I give a rat’s ass about scars? Do you think they have any bearing on how I look at you? Nothing, absolutely  _ nothing _ will ever change the fact that you are the most beautiful soul I will ever have the pleasure of knowing.” He paused and took Curt’s hand again. “No injury could ever change that, darling. Besides, you still being alive after everything that happened is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed. These marks,” he ran his hand down Curt’s back lightly, “are just proof you made it, scars mean nothing if you’re dead.” Owen smiled softly looking into his lover’s eyes. 

          Saying that out loud made it really set in for him how lucky he was that Curt was still here, alive and talking to him. He never thought about what would happen if he lost Curt, on the job or otherwise, but those hours of uncertainty before Cynthia found him were some of the worst of his life. He pulled Curt close, hugging him as hard as he could without hurting him. Curt buried his face into Owen’s shoulder. They stayed like that for a while before Curt started to pull away.

          “As much as I love this,” he said, “I still need to use the bathroom.” Owen chuckled and let him out of the hug. 

_           Five minutes later  _

          “Do you mind if I lay down with you for a bit? I’m quite tired.” 

          “Of course not.” Curt scooted over in his hospital bed and patted the empty spot beside him. Owen crawled into bed and threw his arm around Curt’s bare chest. Curt sighed into Owen’s shoulder. He seemed to be relaxed, breathing deeply and closing his eyes. God, he was so perfect. Owen was contemplating how much he loved this absolute disaster of a man and absentmindedly rubbing small circles into Curt’s arm. He seemed to enjoy it, so Owen kept going, moving up to rub Curt’s shoulder. Almost immediately Curt tensed up. He panicked out of fear he hurt his partner.

          “Oh fuck, love, are you alright? Did I touch an open wound? What happened?” Curt was blushing like a maniac,  _ huh…  _

          “It’s- it’s nothing.” Owen was a little concerned still, but he wanted to test a theory and he figured Curt would’ve just told him if he was hurt. He moved his fingertips lightly across the back of Curt’s neck again and Curt froze, face redder than before and fighting back a smile. 

          “Oh my god, you’re ticklish!” Owen exclaimed, grinning like an idiot.

          “N-no! No, I’m not, I’m just… uh… I’m not ticklish, okay?!” Owen smirked with skepticism and completely unmasked glee. 

          “Oh really? So you wouldn’t mind if I just…” Owen began to tickle the back of Curt’s neck, no longer worried, now just happy to have something to make Curt smile. And to hold over his head, but that would come later. He moved to behind Curt’s ear and Curt almost screeched.

          “Your ears sensitive too, love?”

          “Fuck you.”

          “Not now, I’m busy.” 

          Owen ceased his merciless tickling and kissed behind Curt’s ear. He tensed up again but now his face was just as red (if not, more so) as when Cynthia walked in on them on the plane. It was amusing and endlessly endearing to look at and he couldn’t help but steal a quick kiss on the lips before they collapsed, side by side. Curt huffed loudly but quickly settled back onto Owen’s chest like before.

          “You are an evil man, Carvour.”

          “Oh hush, you love me.”

          “I do.” Owen smiled and carded his fingers through his adorable boyfriend’s hair.

          “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading chapter 7! We hope you enjoyed, leave a kudos if you liked it and chapter 8 will be up.... whenever it's finished??? Exam week is next week, forgive us for being messy  
> One author has a sprained ankle and the other has a fever of 101, we're TRYING ok.
> 
> Also: at the line "what in the absolute fuck are you talking about" we originally had as a stand-in before we could figure out what to put "what in the funky fresh hell are you talking about" and we almost forgot to fix it. While it's historically inaccurate, god that would've been funny.


	8. Pasta and Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied sexual content ;)  
> Curt says groovy ("put that in the warnings." "in the tags or the warnings?" "in the warnings. no one should have that thrust upon them without a warning")

          It was official, Curt hated cats. Well, he hated this cat. Not that he would ever say it out loud, because it was Owen’s cat and he’s pretty sure that the cat had priority. Sure, he was staying in London for now, and he finally had a chance to relax and rest, but he couldn’t because that damn cat was glaring at him with the force of a thousand suns. Seriously, if looks could kill Curt would be dead ten times over. To make matters worse, Curt was alone. Sure he had a three-week leave, but there was only so long Owen could go off on his own without MI6 dragging him back to England to catch up on paperwork. So he was stuck here in Owen’s apartment on bed rest with a cat that was probably plotting his murder until Owen got home. He tried to amuse himself with books and such, but he found that he and his boyfriend had very different tastes in literature and nothing he found sounded at all interesting. He wasn’t desperate enough to try petting the cat yet. 

          After what seemed like an eternity, he decided that he was gonna make Owen dinner. He wasn’t totally sure what he was going to make yet but he was bored enough to try cooking if that says anything. Maybe pasta? He’s pretty sure he saw a box of it in the pantry. It wasn’t hard to make either, really all you had to do was boil some water. Ok, he could manage that without re-opening his wounds. Probably. 

          “Agent, I swear to god if you don’t go lay your fat ass down somewhere and leave me alone, I will wind up kicking you and I  _ will not _ be sorry.” Agent just meowed and sat down at his feet, still glaring up at him.

          “Yeah, alright, don’t complain when you get stepped on, you little shit.” 

          Curt opened the pantry and saw the box of noodles was on the top shelf.  _ Shit, _ this was going to be an endeavor. It’s not that Curt was too short to reach, he wasn’t, he just had stitches on his sides that would not be happy about the moving that would be required to reach up and grab the box. _ Fuck,  _ maybe he could stand on a chair? That could work. Can’t be worse than tearing his sutures. That would be fun to explain in the hospital. 

          “Oh yeah I got tortured almost to the brink of death doing my top secret job and when I finally got released from the hospital I decided to make pasta for my boyfriend who I’m not supposed to have but the pasta was on the top shelf and I tore my stitches, can you help me doc?” Yeah, that would go over well. He dragged a chair from the dining room over to the pantry and retrieved the pasta. From here it should be easy because Owen wasn’t a freak who kept his pots on the top shelf. 

          He boiled the water in relative silence, really only making noise to sass Agent-The-Cat.  (“That’s his full name” Owen had said. “It’s funny because we’re spies.”) Curt hates that fuckin cat.

          He was so absorbed in trying to drain the pasta without slashing himself with boiling water that he didn’t notice Owen walking through the door. Actually, he didn’t notice Owen at all until he spoke up.

          “What the absolute hell do you think you’re doing out of bed?!” Curt jumped out of his (metaphorical) skin and in doing so dropped his pasta. Hot water splashed all over the counter, somehow not splashing Curt, but coming very close to it. He glared at Owen and groaned.

          “Do you know how long that took?” 

          “... Boiling water?”

          “No! Getting the pasta down from the shelf in your damn pantry!” 

          Owen stifled a laugh before seemingly remembering that he was angry.

          “Get your ass in bed, Mega,” Owen said while gently pushing Curt to the bedroom.

          “Well, if you’re offering.” 

          “I mean it Mega, you’re not supposed to be up. Or doing anything  _ strenuous. _ ”

“I mean it too, Carvour. We haven’t had any real alone time in a while and, trust me, I wouldn’t mind a little  _ strenuous _ activity with you. Besides, who’s to say it has to be strenuous for me?”

          “Just to be clear, we  _ are _ talking about sex right?”

          “ _ No,  _ I was talking about going for a nice long jog. At 9pm. In the rain. Yes, I’m talking about sex.” 

          “Love, believe me, I want to. But your stitches…”

          “ _ Will be fine _ , if you’re doing all the work” Curt had seemingly already made up his mind, because, as he was saying this, he was unbuttoning Owen’s shirt. 

          “Alright, I give.”

          Curt grinned.

          “Groovy.” 

 

_           Meanwhile, in America. _

 

          Cynthia wanted a cigarette. Granted, she usually wanted one, but normally it was because she needed nicotine. Right now she just needed a distraction. She had been going over the Deadliest Man case file with Tatiana for a little over 4 hours now, and she was ready to put a knife through something. She finally decided to  _ really _ read through the files describing what the Deadliest Man did to Curt and some of the other victims they had reports on. Prior to this, she had only skimmed the medical report for Curt to get the gist of what she was dealing with but now, with a fully detailed description of the cuts and shocks and suffocation,  _ jesus fucking christ,  _ she almost wished he wasn’t dead so she could kill him herself. _ Almost. _

          Across the room, Tatiana set down a Manila folder and sighed. She looked like she was about to drop from exhaustion, but she kept going. Cynthia could relate. Maybe when all this nonsense with the Russians blew over, Tatiana would join them. She hoped so. Americans were absolute idiots. After what seemed like ages, Tatiana broke the silence.

          “Something is off here”

          “What?”

          “You know how we sent people to clear the warehouse after I shot that guy?” Cynthia frowned.

          “Yes?”

          “Well, according to the report they made, there was no body. I sure as hell didn’t clear the area after I shot him, and bodies don’t just disappear.”

          “Meaning…”

          “Meaning the man that did this to your agent is still out there.”

          Cynthia sat for a moment, processing the new information. After a few seconds, she reached for the phone.

          “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed leave a kudos! Comments feed our sad, gay hearts so please let us know what you thought of the chapter and the next one will (hopefully) be out soon!


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